Tuesday, June 15, 2010

"Love On A Dime" Book Review

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

MY REVIEW: This is a fun book set in a really fun time period of the Gilded Age when things were very different and while people loved reading dime novels, it wasn't acceptable to write them. Lilly writes dime novels because she feels led to do something and this is a way that she can earn some money to donate to charity when there is no other way for her to have money of her own. In order to do this among her set she must use a nom de plume so no one knows who is really writing the books. As they become more popular, people want to know who the author really is. One of those people is her former fiance who has come back to win her over, his desire to expose the author is probably not going to help in the romance department. This is a historical romance with a bit of mystery and humor, lots of fun for summer reading.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cara Lynn James is a debut writer who has received numerous contest awards from Romance Writers of America chapters and the American Christian Fiction Writers. She resides in northwest Florida with her husband Jim. They have two grown children, Justin and Alicia; a grandson, Damian; and Papillion named Sparky.

Jack slowed his pace, his courage once more waning atthe sight of the Westbrook home across the way. Anxietytwisted his stomach in a knot. But in the dusky light,Lilly’s glow of confidence reignited his own flame. Sheunderstood her parents far better than he did. Since she believed her father would agree to the marriage, why should he hesitate?

Arm-in-arm they strolled across the road. Among the row offine brick townhouses facing them, the Westbrook house stoodthree stories tall like all the rest, with long, paned windows overlookingWashington Park.

Mr. Ames, the ancient butler, opened the front door. Jack andLilly entered the dimly lit foyer.“Where is my father this evening?” Lilly asked the butler.“In the back parlor, miss.”

“Shall I go with you, Jack?”

“No,” he whispered, squeezing her hand, “I’d rather do thison my own. Say a prayer all will go well.”

Jack strode toward the parlor, determined to plead his case.Every nerve ending in his body fired with life—and more thana few with apprehension. He’d calm himself and then ask Mr.Westbrook for Lilly’s hand in a respectful tone, solicitous, butnot fawning. He’d restrain his usual brash attitude and hope Mr.Westbrook would consent to a marriage most would deem unsuitable.If he weighed the odds of success, he wouldn’t even try.Jack inhaled a steadying breath and increased his pace downthe narrow hallway leading to the back of the house. Gas sconcesthrew a pale light along the Persian runner that muffled his footstepsto a soft shuffle. The house lay silent except for the noise ofa sledge hammer beating against his chest.

Lord, I need a large dose of Your strength. Don’t allow me to cower.I’ve never been a quitter and I don’t want to start now.He hadn’t asked God for much in the past, but this was tooimportant to rely on his own untested powers.Jack paused before he came to the door of the back parlor,straightened his bow tie, and squared his shoulders. Voices stoppedhim before he moved forward. He recognized Mrs. Westbrook’shigh, girlish tone. He’d wait for a lull in the conversation, excusehis entry, and then ask to speak to Mr. Westbrook. Jack waited forseveral minutes before he heard his name.

“Thomas, I noticed Jackson Grail seems especially fond ofLilly. You don’t suppose he wants to marry her, do you?”Jack winced at the worry in her voice. With his back to thewall he stepped closer to the parlor.

“Well, it’s my duty as her mother to guide her. Oliver Crossor Pelham Mills come to mind as possible suitors. Maybe HarlanSanterre. He’s such a polite young man and his mother and I havebeen friends since childhood. Yes, he’s most definitely my firstchoice.”

Jack let out the breath he’d been holding, knowing he shouldbreak away, cease his eavesdropping—

“They’re all acceptable to me. But what about young Grail?You say he might be interested in her. He’s got a good head on hisshoulders.”

“But no money in his pocket. Need I say more?”

Jack frowned and tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

Mr. Westbrook sighed. “No, my dear. You’re absolutely right.He’s not suitable, though I do like him.”

“I do as well. And now he’s as finely educated as our ownGeorge. But he would have to strike it rich quickly in order to courtLilly,” Mrs. Westbrook added. “And that’s highly unlikely.”

“Nearly impossible, I’m afraid. So I hope you’re wrong andyoung Grail hasn’t set his heart on Lilly.” Her father sighed. “He’san intelligent boy. I’m sure he’d know better. Especially when shehas an ambitious mama anxious to make her the perfect match.”

Mrs. Westbrook laughed. “Thomas, do stop your teasing.”

Jack bumped his shoulder against the curlicues of a large giltpicture frame. Turning to give it a hard shove, he stopped himself.He wouldn’t let his temper get the better of him. Leaving the oilpainting crooked, he stumbled down the patterned runner, awayfrom the awful voices. When he came to the foyer he dropped intoa rosewood chair and ignored the curious stare from Mr. Ames.Jack buried his head in his hands and tried to gather his witsbefore he had to face Lilly. But the Westbrooks’ conversationresounded through his mind. Poor. Unsuitable. Why had he everthought they’d accept him as a son-in-law? His love for Lilly hadbanished all reason. He’d lived in a fog of hope these last severalmonths, but now it cleared.

At the sound of light footsteps he looked up. “What did Papasay?” Lilly asked, grasping his hands.

He glanced at her without speaking and then saw his ownanguish reflected in her eyes. He so wished his answer could bringher joy. She gently pulled him into the dimly lit sitting room. Thesheers and heavy velvet curtains blocked all but the final rays ofdaylight from seeping through the windows overlooking the park.They faced each other in front of the unlit marble fireplace, his armstight around her slim waist, her hands lightly touching his vest.

“Tell me,” she said in a rasping voice, barely audible.

“I never had the chance to ask, Lilly. When I got to the backparlor your parents were already discussing appropriate husbands.And my name wasn’t on the list.”

“That’s because they don’t know we love each other. Papahas never refused me anything. It might take some persuasion, butyou can do it. We can approach him together.”

Lovely, pampered Lilly, who owned her father’s heart—except when it came to marriage partners. And marriage amongthe rich was certainly a business transaction. Their kind nevermarried Jack’s kind. He’d gone to St. Luke ’s and Yale with thewealthy, but as a scholarship student, he didn’t belong to their setno matter how hard he tried to fit in. Maybe he would’ve acceptedthe impenetrable barrier if Lilly hadn’t swept into his life.He gazed at her, drinking in her passion, memorizing herlarge, expressive eyes and flawless skin, her tall, slender form andthick brown hair framing her face.

Her eyes blazed like blue fire. “Come. We ’ll speak to Papa.Right now.”

How could he explain he couldn’t abide her father’s rejection?He refused to hear again that he wasn’t good enough to courtLilly—once was enough. And he didn’t want her to elope withhim without her parents’ approval. Jack groaned. As much as headored Lilly, he wasn’t acceptable to the family. The daughter ofa prosperous banker, Lilly couldn’t marry a man without a familyfortune.

“We can marry without their consent. You’ll find a good job.I know you will. Don’t you see, Jack, we don’t need my parents’permission.”

“But I want their respect.” And he’d never gain their esteemby stealing their daughter away. He turned from her, running ahand through his hair. He ’d been fooling himself. How couldhe provide for Lilly, care for her in a manner in which she wasaccustomed? What could he promise her? A one room apartmentin a dingy part of town while he made his way in the world,if he ever made it at all. How long before his beautiful, youngand idealistic bride would realize she ’d sacrificed too much foran improbable dream? He ’d harm her if he stole her from herfamily.

He glanced at her and could see in her face the stubborn, naïvehope that lingered there. But he understood reality as she neverwould. He ’d let his love blossom before he should have.Jack slowly moved away, steeling himself for the hurt yetto come. “Your parents are right. I’m in no position to marry. Ishould never have proposed, because I have nothing to offer.”

Lilly rushed to him and flung her arms around his neck, tearsspilling down her cheeks. “What about our love? Why do youneed more than that?”

“Lilly, we can’t exist on dreams. I have to earn a living. And Ican’t support you on a clerk’s salary. You’d miss your old life.”

Jack shook his head. “I doubt myself, not you.” What if herconfidence in his abilities weren’t warranted? What if he neverrose above petty clerk, despite his fancy education? A girl from asociety family, proud and successful for generations, could neverbe content washing laundry, cooking meals, and scrubbing floorson her hands and knees. She ’d grow bitter and resentful.

“I can adapt to less. I don’t care about a beautiful home. I onlywant you,” she said, her voice rising with frustration.

He wouldn’t argue about the effects of poverty and how itwore on a person. She wouldn’t understand. “If we came fromthe same background, I wouldn’t hesitate to speak to your father.But we didn’t.”

“But you will. I know it. I’ll wait until you feel ready to marryme. There’s no hurry. I’m patient. I can wait forever.” She pleadedwith beautiful eyes glistening with tears.

“No, please don’t wait for me.” Jack’s voice cracked like ice.He wanted her to wait, but he couldn’t ruin her chances ofmaking a suitable, maybe even a happy marriage. The odds ofsucceeding in the business world without connections were small.If and when he’d proven himself, he’d return and hope she ’d stillwant him. And forgive him. But he couldn’t ask her to wait.He blotted her tears with his handkerchief, but they keptstreaming down her face. Her slender shoulders heaved with softsobs. He kissed her again gently and then retreated to his bedroombefore he was tempted to crush her in his arms and beg her toelope. He’d planned to stay for the week as George ’s guest, butnow he needed to leave quickly.

Within ten minutes he was gone.

Jack’s heart slammed against his ribs. The past two weeks hadbeen a misery. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. Go back, go back!his mind and heart screamed. You’ve made a terrible mistake!

His stomach roiling, Jack fought to keep a dignified pace andnot run all the way to Washington Square. At last, he stood beforethe Westbrook home and tapped the front door knocker againstthe heavy wood.He’d explain he couldn’t manage without her and his infernalpride had blocked his common sense and their tender love. Wouldshe accept his apology? They’d work something out. He didn’tknow how exactly, but they would. He knew their union was sanctioned,indeed designed, by God.

Mr. Ames pulled the heavy door open. “May I help you, sir?”

“Yes. Is Miss Westbrook at home?”

The hunched-over butler shook his head. “They’ve all goneabroad. They sailed yesterday.”

Jack’s cautious optimism collapsed in a heap of despair. “Andwhen will they return?”

With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Lilly Westbrookwhipped the last page of her manuscript out ofthe Underwood typewriter. Carefully she shreddedthe carbon and threw the messy strips into the wastebasket. Nomeddlesome maid could possibly reconstruct her work and tattleto Mama.

For a moment, a wave of sadness overshadowed the pleasureshe felt at finishing another story. How she longed to share hersecret with her mother, but as much as Lilly hated deception, sheknew Mama would never understand. Mama was proud of her fordabbling in poetry, but this?

No. It was best to stay behind closed doors to write her dimenovels.Lilly shuddered to think of the disgrace she ’d bring upon herselfand, even worse, upon her family, if her secret was revealed.The very notion of social ostracism weakened her knees and lefther legs wobbly. A twinge of guilt pinched her conscience as itoften did when she considered her concealment. Yet why look fortrouble when her work was progressing so well?

Lilly scrubbed her hands until all evidence of the carbon paperand inky ribbon disappeared into the washbasin near her bed, thencovered the typewriter Mama had given her as a birthday gift afew years before. Mama thought a typing machine unnecessaryfor a poet, but she wasn’t one to begrudge her children anythingwithin reason.

Lilly withdrew a letter from her skirt pocket and smiled as shere-read the last lines.

My dear Lilly,I want to again express my thanks for all you’ve contributed tothe Christian Settlement House of New York. We so value the timeand effort you have devoted to assisting our young ladies with theirsundry life skills and English fluency. Your exceptional generosityand financial support have enabled us to continue our work in accordancewith the Lord’s purposes.

Sincerely,Phoebe Diller, Director

Miss Diller’s kind words sent a rush of warmth to Lilly’s heartand strengthened her resolve to continue writing. For without theprofits from her novels, she couldn’t afford to donate more thana few dollars to her favorite charity. How could she possibly quitwriting when her romance novels provided so many blessings toothers?

Lilly locked the final chapter in the rolltop desk by the baywindow and hid the key beneath the lining of her keepsake box.Time for a well-deserved walk by the sea. She removed her readingspectacles and placed her straw hat decorated with brightpoppies squarely on top of her upswept hair. After a last furtiveglance toward the desk, she left her bedroom to the morning sunshinethat splashed across the shiny oak floor and floral carpet.

All the way down the staircase she congratulated herself fortyping “The End” of her story, though it was only a few daysbefore deadline. That was much too close for comfort. She sighed.Too many social events had disrupted her normal writing routinethis summer. But she had no choice but to force a smile andattend the functions, even though most of them bored her todistraction.

She wouldn’t think of that now. At least she’d finished the manuscriptbefore the deadline and for that she’d treat herself to a fewminutes out of her room. With a light heart, she strolled throughthe deserted foyer, past Mr. Ames, the butler, and out the frontdoor. A beautiful day greeted her with its sun-blessed smile.

As she crossed the veranda, her sister-in-law Irene Westbrook,seated at the end of the porch, peered over a small, familiar book.The lurid cover of Lilly’s latest novel, Dorothea’s Dilemma,popped out in garish color. Lilly stopped short and pressed herpalm over her gyrating heart.

“Oh my,” she murmured. She’d never expected to see one ofher novels in her own home, let alone in the hands of her brother’swife.

Irene smoothed her halo of silky blonde curls caught up in aloose pompadour. She laid the slim paperback on her lap, her eyesgleaming with curiosity. “Why hello, Lilly. Where have you beenon this beautiful afternoon? Cooped up in your bedroom again?My goodness, what do you do in there all day?”

“Sometimes I enjoy a few hours of solitude.” Lilly’s nervesseized control of her voice and it rose like the screech of a seagull.“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading.” Heat crept into her skin asIrene watched her, face aglow with interest.

“Do sit down, Lilly.”

She slipped into a wicker chair opposite Irene. A gust ofsalty air, typical of Newport’s summer weather, blew in from theAtlantic and brushed its cool breath across her cheeks. She prayedit would fade the red splotches that came so easily when embarrassmentstruck.

Irene cocked her head. “Is something wrong? You look positivelyill.”

“No, I’m fine.” Though every fiber of her body continued toquiver, Lilly steadied her breathing. She folded her hands in thelap of her charcoal-gray skirt and willed them not to shake.

“You aren’t shocked by my novel, are you?” Irene smirked.

“Of course not.” Lilly squirmed around on the soft chintzcushion and avoided Irene ’s skeptical stare. “Why should I beshocked?”

Irene leaned forward. “Some people claim dime novels aretrash, and from your reaction I thought you might be one of thosefaultfinders. Of course they’re wrong. These books are filled withadventure and I love adventure.” She rolled the last word aroundher tongue like a stream of honey.

Irene, the niece of Quentin Kirby, one of San Francisco’ssilver kings, fancied herself an adventuress, but Lilly inwardlydisagreed. Irene merely appreciated fun and frivolity more thanmost. That hardly made her a woman like the heroines of Lilly’sbooks. “I’m so sorry, Irene. I didn’t mean to criticize your choiceof books. I just wondered where you obtained your copy.”

“I discovered it in the kitchen while I was searching for ablueberry tart.” Irene grinned as if Lilly ought to admire hercleverness.“One of the scullery maids must have left it there.”

“You took it without asking permission?” Lilly could scarcelybelieve Irene had wandered downstairs to the basement kitchen,the domain of servants who strongly disapproved of visitors,even the family.

“Why yes. Well no, not exactly. I borrowed it. As soon as I finishreading, I’ll give it back. Of course.”Irene tapped the big, red letters spelling out the author’s nameacross the cover. “Fannie Cole. She’s a splendid writer, the verybest. Have you ever read any of her books? I devour them likechocolate.”

Her mother sunk into a wicker chair beside Irene. “Perhaps,my dear, but you must admit, there are so many more upliftingnovels.” She patted Irene ’s arm, which was robed in a cream silkblouse that matched the lace of her skirt. “Lillian is a poet, youknow. Her work is delightful. You must read it. I’ll go fetch youa copy.”

Lilly cringed. “No, Mama. I wrote those poems years ago. Shewouldn’t be interested in the meanderings of an eighteen-year oldninny. It’s sentimental tripe.”

“Really, Mama.” Lilly softened her voice, not meaning toscold. “While some of the dime novels are sensational, others arewritten to help working girls avoid the pitfalls of city life. They’remoralistic tales that encourage virtue. Nothing to be ashamed ofreading.” Or writing.

“Exactly.” Irene beamed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.Of course, I read for the story, not the moral lesson, but I’m sureit’s beneficial for those who enjoy a good sermon.”

Lilly suppressed a sigh of resignation. “No doubt Miss Colehopes and prays her words touch the hearts of her readers andbring them closer to the Lord.” Lilly looked at Mama and Irene,hoping they’d somehow understand her purpose and approve.But both looked puzzled over her words.

Irene ’s gaze narrowed. “An odd way to spread the gospel,don’t you think?”

"Not at all. The Lord is more creative than we are.” Lillybristled and then glanced away when she found her mother andsister-in-law still staring at her.She’d spoken up much more forcefully than she intended.With a sinking heart, Lilly realized Mama would never accept herviewpoint; it flew in the face of beliefs and opinions ingrainedsince childhood.

Irene picked up a sheet of paper resting on a small table betweentwo pots of ferns and waved it like a flag on the Fourth of July. Lillyimmediately recognized Talk of the Town, a gossip rag publishedby that scandalmonger, Colonel MacIntyre, the bane of Newportsociety. He shot fear into the hearts of all upstanding people andothers who weren’t quite so virtuous. Lilly swallowed hard.

Irene shrugged. “Perhaps not. But if you don’t mind my sayingso, it’s great fun to read. I’m learning the crème de la crèmeof Newport are up to all kinds of mischief.” She laughed withpleasure.

“Listen to this.” Irene leaned forward. “One hears that MissFannie Cole, author of wildly popular dime novels, has taken up residenceat one of the ocean villas for the season. The talk about townclaims this writer of sensational—some might even say salacious—stories, belongs to the New York and Newport aristocracy. Which of ourfine debutantes or matrons writes under the nom de plume, Fannie Cole?

Speculation runs rampant. Would the talented but mysterious author ofDorothea’s Dilemma, Hearts in Tune, and several other delectablenovels please come forward and identify herself for her public?”

Lilly’s throat closed. She clamped her hands down on her lap,but they shook like a hummingbird’s wings. Had a maid or a footmanstumbled across her secret and sold the information? ColonelRufus MacIntyre of Talk of the Town paid handsomely for gossip.No one was safe from his long, grasping tentacles, including someof the most prominent people in society.

“The colonel has mentioned Miss Cole in his column for thelast two weeks, so I expect we’ll hear more about her during thesummer.” Irene grinned as she studied the sheet. “I wonder whoshe is. I’d love to meet her.”

Mama’s mouth puckered into a small circle. “Undoubtedlysomeone from the wrong side of the tracks. No one we’d know.”

She punctuated her words with a firm nod.Irene persisted. “You must have an idea, Lilly. You seem toknow everything that’s going on in society.”

Lilly turned away, sure that a red stain had again spilled acrossher pale skin. Her sister-in-law was right. She did listen to all thetittle-tattle, but she prided herself on her discretion. The foiblesof her set provided grist for her novels, not for spreading rumorsand innuendo.

“You give me far too much credit, Irene.” She hated to dodgequestions to keep from lying, but what was her option short ofconfessing? She twisted the cameo at the neck of her tailoredshirtwaist.

Mama wagged her finger. “Mark my words. By the end ofthe summer someone will discover Fannie Cole’s true name andannounce it to the entire town. Oh, my. What humiliation she ’llbring upon her family. They’ll be mortified.”

“How delicious,” Irene murmured.

Lilly groaned inwardly. Her subterfuge gnawed at her conscience,worsening day by day, but she couldn’t turn back theclock and reconsider her decision to write in secret.

She rose. “Will you excuse me? I need to take my walk now.”With her head held high and as much poise as she could muster,Lilly descended the veranda’s shallow steps. She strode acrossthe wide, sloping lawn that surrounded Summerhill, the oldtwenty-two-room mansion the Westbrooks rented for the season.Once she reached the giant rocks that separated the groundsfrom the ocean, she picked her way over to a smooth boulder thatdoubled for a bench. As she ’d done every day since her arrivalthree weeks ago, Lilly settled onto its cold surface. Instead ofwatching the breakers pound against the coast and absorb the majestyof nature ’s rhythm, she rested her head in her hands and letthe breeze brush against her face.

What would happen if her beau, Harlan Santerre, discoveredthat she and Fannie Cole were the same person? The wealthy railroadheir, a guest of the family for the eight weeks of summer,miraculously seemed ripe to propose. Her mother kept remindingher how grateful she should be that such a solid, upstanding manas Harlan Santerre had shown interest in a twenty-five-year-oldspinster with no grand fortune and no great beauty. Mama and theentire family would be humiliated if her writing became publicknowledge and Harlan turned his attention elsewhere.

Yet the Holy Ghost had urged her to compose her simple stories,and as she wrote, her melancholy gradually faded. Her enthusiasmnever waned thanks to the joy she received from doing the Lord’swork.

Why would He allow someone to ruin her and end the gooddeeds she accomplished? He should smite her enemies instead. Allher life she ’d trusted the Lord to guide her and protect her, butnever had she needed His help more than now. But would He continueto shield her?

Trembling, Lilly tossed a stone into the roiling surf andwatched it sink into the foamy white waves. What if the surgeof curiosity aroused by Colonel MacIntyre didn’t fade away andeverything she held dear was threatened?

My Shelfari Bookshelf

About Me

After a long time of struggling with my weight and trying diet after diet I have finally found something that works for me and I want to help others as well.
I have 7 beautiful children that are true gifts from God that are, in part, thanks to my phenomenal husband of 15 years and love of my life - Matt. I own a Christian Dance Studio and I consider that my ministry to children and their families. Dancing is definitely my passion.